I’ve seen a lot of Death. I’ve held her hand, ran my fingers over her forehead; I’ve put my arm around those getting left on earth whilst the other in the room gets to shake flesh back into dust. For some reason I can always tell when Death enters the room and I know when she is a few days out.

But. Knowing her, sensing her, doesn’t make me any better at releasing the displaced persons who have made their way back to Free. Those that get to flee this place, so often full of ragged and broken. Those that return to Maker and find rest at last.

Us aliens? We set up refugee camps. We do the best we can to bring our little bit of Home here. We endure the occasional enemy attack. But most days we do our best to take care of each other. To carry burdens for each other when they need some help. To bring a taste of the Land of the Free, to the land of the oppressed. It doesn’t always feel like that though. Most of the time we are so surrounded by beauty we forget to notice. We pick wild flowers, we laugh with friends, we hold on tight to each other.

And we remember. Some day we will also journey home. It will be a marvelous reunion. Till then? We remember to press into the One Heart who makes us truly home. We quell our restlessness in Him.

Inspired by my extraordinary friend Michelle and other Aliens writing on this subject at:

and

It is ice-cold and frost covered this morning and I feel like I could lay down in that grass and not even cause a melt; feeling so melancholy, so completely quenched of fire. I am sharper, I mock more, I am ready to explode for all the pressure I feel to hop a plane and in my life restlessness and sin always hold hands.

I’m burden heavy, a little busy, a little tired. I’ve been waiting for the days that I could just pause, in quiet and worship and find the way back to the burning hot.

But.

Those moments are far and few between in a mamma life. The sweet moments of sitting long with only words and pen don’t happen with little people, it is rare to complete a thought, hard to even articulate what it would mean if I could read a whole chapter, utter a complete prayer. And yet, Jesus chasers all over the planet, carting water, finding food, those who can’t read a word, are still finding Him.

And suddenly with Psalm 1 on my heart, worship songs ringing in my ears, the laundry pile becomes my church. We must learn how to make each moment our prayer closets, our classrooms our altars, our work sites our places of worship. Perpetually returning our hearts to our Maker, watching them for the signs they are returning home to the wrong places. Returning our moments to the Redeemer, watching for signs that we’ve allowed them to be stolen and destroyed.  And when restless rears its head we remember that in actual fact we are restless not for another place on earth, another story here and now, but restless till we find our One True Rest.

Great are you, O Lord, and exceedingly worthy of praise; your power is immense, and your wisdom beyond reckoning. And so we men, who are a due part of your creation, long to praise you – we also carry our mortality about with us, carry the evidence of our sin and with it the proof that you thwart the proud. You arouse us so that praising you may bring us joy, because you have made us and drawn us to yourself, and our heart is restless until it rests in you.-St Augustine

(this post very much inspired by this much more articulate and wise writer…and on advice from a white-hot friend am praying the psalms this month…)

A modified Mother Theresa quote

Twice since we have been in youth ministry our names have come up in criminal investigations.

The best story?

Six months after we bought our first home (in a neighborhood mostly occupied by seniors) a cluster of marijuana plants was found behind our mailboxes. Naturally, the young man (who wears a toque year round, has long hair and a beard) has a huge crop growing in his basement. Adding to the suspicion, was the fact that at that point in our ministry there was many groups of young men in plaid shirts staying with us with giant trailers in the driveway  – what else could they be hauling but shipments of weed across the border? There was also boats and strange vehicles coming and going and loud raucous ‘parties’ in our basement. Little did they know that it was Christian rock bands visiting the church and hauling music equipment, games of four on the couch and boats in preparation for camp. None of it was drug induced.

It was good for a laugh back then, that phone call informing us that our names had come up in the investigation. The drug abuse prevention specialist and the youth pastor: the usual suspects.

Now though, I sense it as a warning of things to come. People in this world tend to think the worst of each other. Some of the very best people I know, who in certain situations have acted with the utmost integrity have still been dragged through the mud. It is junk. It makes me crazy.

Equally as dangerous and toxic though, is how sometimes there is a level of idol worship of people in leadership. That is, sometimes people think you are better than you are. Sometimes it messes with your head.

Both are equally false. Trusting either opinion of you will make you crazy. Your identity cannot lay outside of yourself, in anything as easily corrupted as the mind of another.

Your reputation this side of heaven will never be truth.  Thankfully the one who judges our hearts knows our intent. Knows our service in the secret place. Knows the whole of the story, knows what you faced to bring you to this day.

So remember, even if you are battered on all sides, GREATER IS HE, whom shall you fear?

Shake it off,  your treasures and identity are stored in a much safer place.